Nearly 4,000 Officers Pay Tribute to Slain Deputy

Southern California’s law enforcement community, feeling battered and bitter, gave an extraordinary tribute to one of its own Tuesday as nearly 4,000 uniformed officers saluted the copper coffin of slain Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Deputy Nelson H. Yamamoto.

It was a day of solidarity and pride, a time for officers to take stock of their lives and their mission, a moment for cops to lick the wounds they have collectively suffered during a tumultuous year.

The 26-year-old Yamamoto, whose freshly scrubbed face and playful grin peered out from a color photo perched on an easel by his casket at Rolling Hills Covenant Church, served as a catalyst for the emotional display of fellowship.

But with Los Angeles’ two largest law enforcement agencies rocked by scandals and allegations of brutality, Yamamoto’s death last week during a shootout in Walnut Park also became a rallying cry for all officers who feel their reputations have been unfairly tarnished and their efforts unappreciated.

“There is such an intense sense of frustration by law enforcement because of the attacks on us,” said a somber Sheriff Sherman Block, dressed in a formal green uniform decorated with medals. “I think there was an overwhelming need to be together.”

It was a coming together of massive proportions, as a convoy of black-and-white Chevrolet Caprices descended on the quiet South Bay community, backing up traffic for miles. Sheriff’s Department officials said it was the largest turnout for a law enforcement funeral they had ever seen.

Many officers came on their own time from as far away as Ventura, San Bernardino and Orange counties. With room for only about 1,000 people inside the chapel, most stood erect in the lobby and parking lot, listening to the eulogies on a public address system and watching on television monitors.

“It’s an indescribable loss,” said Deputy James Beydler, a Metro Blue Line patrolman, who did not know Yamamoto. “I would say it’s pulled everybody a little closer together.”

Indeed, few of the officers had met Yamamoto, who had joined the Sheriff’s Department just three years ago and had been on patrol less than two months. But there was no doubt that a member of the family had been lost, a brother to all who had covered their badges with a black patch of mourning.

“Nelson gave us his heartbeat so your heart would have twice the strength,” Deputy Yancy Walden, who worked in the Hall of Justice jail with Yamamoto, told his colleagues from the altar. Then, in one of the most moving moments of the day, Walden clenched his right hand into a fist--covered in a white glove--and held it to his heart.

“I love you, Nelson,” he said in a choked voice.

Streetwise cops dabbed tears from behind their dark sunglasses and shifted uncomfortably in the heat, filling the still air with the sound of creaking leather belts and holsters.

Yamamoto, who lived with his parents in Torrance, was remembered as a modest, dedicated, athletic young man who had recently announced his intention to marry his high school sweetheart, Michele Tomei.

The youngest of three children born to Henry and Jane Yamamoto, he had grown up studying martial arts, playing Little League baseball and attending a Baptist Sunday school. On March 29, he was shot four times with a .357 magnum after responding to a call of a man with a gun.

Yamamoto died two days later, the first deputy slain in the line of duty since 1989. One man was killed during the intense gun battle and another was arrested. A third, believed to have fired the bullets that killed Yamamoto, was shot to death Monday by police in New York.

“We will miss Nelson--a personable, quiet, sensitive, hard-working, dedicated, meticulous human being with a lot of heart,” Block said. “Truly a good cop. Truly a hero.”

After the church service, the mourners filed out to nearby Green Hills Memorial Park, where it took three vans to transport the more than 50 floral arrangements from the chapel to the cemetery.

“Atten-Hut!” bellowed a commander as several dozen officers from Yamamoto’s Firestone substation snapped to attention, flanking the way between the hearse and the grave. A team of bagpipers played “Amazing Grace” and a squad of helicopters from the Sheriff’s Department Aero Bureau flew overhead, one veering off in the traditional “missing man” formation.

After the pallbearers set the casket on a wooden platform surrounded by green artificial turf, they slowly folded the American flag that had been draped atop, smoothing the fabric with their gloved hands.

Then they handed it to Block, who turned to Yamamoto’s mother, her head bowed as she sat in a black-and-white checked suit on a folding chair. The sheriff dropped to one knee, placed the flag in her hands and kissed her gently on the cheek.